Million Dollar Mac
by Scrapbastard
Summary: Little Mac's going to rise up and become the new World Champion of the WVBA! But first, he has to train. This story is about his life, before his first, fateful fight with Glass Joe. He'll meet Doc Louis, he'll learn to fight, and maybe we'll even get a little insight in to Mac's personal life. Please, enjoy a glimpse into a side of Little Mac that you've never seen before.


**Hey everyone! Guess whose back! Thank you to all the people who sent me suggestions for what to write next. As you can see, I followed none of them. Sorry! This story is actually dedicated to my closest personal friend, who is a Little Mac Fanatic! But don't fear, I got nothing but good ideas from you all that helped inspire future fiction. Don't count your ideas out yet just because I haven't used them yet! But with out further ado, enjoy Chapter 1 of my new story. Please remember to review, if you feel particularly kind.**

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Bout 1:  
Mac vs. Louis

It was a cold day in January, and the snow was resting on the curb and the gutter, stained with dirt from the passing cars. The river flowed slowly and the people walked through the streets, bundled in layers and layers of cloth. It was one of those rare streets in New York that was never busy. There was never enough hustle or bustle to make it look needed. It was an old, decrepit place, and the state of the place reflected that. The buildings were brick and tagged with graffiti, but even that faded against the wind and neglect. Trash littered the streets, stuck in the damp puddles formed from snow. Potholes and poor paving made a small, beaten up hatchback whine as it rolled along.

In the passenger seat sat Marco, a young man, enjoying his late teenage years. He was tan, betraying his Mexican descent, and had short, cropped, messy black hair. His green eyes lazily drifted from one sight to the next, staring out the window. They were the eyes of a dreamer, hidden under a glossy layer of boredom. Physically, he was in excellent shape, the contours of his muscles reflected the work he put in everyday to tune his body. They showed even through the loose pink hoodie he wore, his favorite, given to him by his mother. In many ways, Marco was unexceptional. His two distinguishing features were his fitness and his height, a meek and meager five feet seven inches tall.

He was short for a boy his age, a fact that his peers were sure to remind him of constantly. But their badgering and teasing never got to him. He simply wasn't that kind of man. Rather than feel woe, he only felt anger, Fury, even. It fueled his determination, giving him the fuel to continue his constant work out regime. He would let his biceps do the talking where his height had not.

He shifted nervously in the seat of the car, and the dusty upholstery shifted with him. He put his hood up, them down, them up again, unable to decide which way he liked it best. The car struggled over a bump in the road, and he grimaced. The machine was old and put far past it's paces. But his family simply couldn't afford a newer model, and so they made due. It was a reliable machine, and one day, it would be Marco's to do with what he pleased. But today, it belonged to the woman in the driver seat; his mother.

A woman whose youth had been stolen away and hidden by a wealth of wrinkles. The lines on her face indicated a life of both great joy and deep sorrow. She had seen terrible and great things and had a thousand stories that no one seemed to care enough to hear. But Marco loved her all the same, and she loved Marco more than anything in the world. To her, he was a blessing, a gift.

The car rolled passed a faded bill board, and Marco smiled. It was, or rather, it was once, brightly painted and enthusiastic. Time had made its mark, but the advertisement could still be read.

"Train with the best, beat all the rest!

Come to Doc's Gym, and let 3 time heavy weight champion Doc Louis teach you how to box!

1.5 miles, next right"

Though it was old and weathered, it stood proudly on the top of a nearby building, watching over this corner of the city, like a guardian. It prominently featured a fit looking African American man, proudly displaying a championship belt. He was Doc Louis, the legendary boxer who had held his title for three years. He was an inspiration to Marco, who had seen an advertisement for his gym many years ago on television. Since that moment, he had made a goal of training with Doc Louis.

He remembered that ad clearly. He was ten, laying in front of the television screen with his head rested on his hands. Suddenly, there appeared Doc Louis, sparring with some one or another. He turned to the camera with a confident smile.

"Hi, I'm Doc Louis." He said, very charming and suave. For little Marco, it was like witnessing talking to a super hero. He was cut magnificently, muscled and fit. Young and extravagant looking. Marco wanted to be as amazing as the man on television appeared. "You may know me from my three time reign as the heavy weight champion of the WVBA."

Then a beautiful woman came in to the ring and handed him his belt, a glorious, golden thing unlike any Marco had ever seen. It was like a trophy that could be worn, displayed wherever it went. It was studded with diamonds and gleamed in the light. He was mesmerized.

"But did you know I'm opening up a gym? It's true!" He continued. "Come train with me, and I'll show you the ropes." He said, laying a hand on the ropes that surrounded the ring. "And a little bit more, too!"

He laughed, and little Marco laughed alongside him, though he didn't understand the joke. Something about Doc Louis seemed to click with Marco. It was as if he was talking directly to him. He wanted to meet him, to know him. He was amazing. Marco's first male role model.

"So come on down, and learn how to punch out your problems!" He said, grinning. He was mighty and muscular and everything Marco aspired to be.

"And if you can't make it down, order my 6 piece VHS set. Learn how fight from home! Four easy payments of $15.99."

Of course, Marco begged his mother for those tapes for his next birthday. He watched them constantly until they wore out. He learned the ins and outs of boxing from them, and from his own research. All in the hopes of one day becoming just like Doc Louis, a champion boxer.

But now that dream was becoming a reality. He was on his way to meet his childhood hero, a man whose very image was associated with triumph. He could only hope to train with Doc personally, but there were likely so many people there that he would have to train under a different trainer. Still, as long as he met Doc Louis, he would be satisfied.

"You're sure this is what you want, Marco?" His mother asked, not taking her eyes off the road in front of her as she rolled through a turn. An advertisement came on over the radio for a boxing match between some chump and the current champion, some Philadelphia bruiser calling himself Mr. Sandman. Marco changed the channel, he was too anxious to think about other boxers today.

"Absolutely, more than anything." He said, gazing out the window. The buildings moved by like silent monuments to the cold, strange city.

It was Christmas not long ago, and Marco had only asked for one thing. He wanted to sign up to train at Doc's gym. He was a senior in high school now, and he had always dreamed of becoming a boxer. Now he would have his chance.

"If you say so, dear." His mother said with a smile. Her son knew she didn't understand it, but she was always supportive, no matter what he decided. She wanted him to be happy, no matter what that meant. Of course, it wasn't always easy. Many birthdays had come and gone more or less uneventfully for the both of them. Marco had learned not to expect too much when it came to these things. His mother never could afford anything extravagant. Still, on this, he insisted. The time was right for him.

The car pulled into a lot outside an old, neglected brick building. It was small, with only a few spaces for cars, and it seemed almost abandoned. The lights weren't even on in the windows, which struck an odd note with Marco, but he shrugged it off. A sign hung in the door that read 'Come on in!' in large, friendly letters, so he took solace in that. Grabbing a small black backpack, he climbed out of the car with his mother.

"This is it?" She asked, staring concerned at the decrepit bricks that made up the building. A faded, painted sign over the door read 'DOC'S GYM' in white letters. She sighed.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Mom." Marco replied, though he, too, was expecting something a little more substantial. Perhaps something larger or more modern. But it didn't matter to him what the gym looked like on the outside, only what was contained within. There must have been a dozen people inside, all training in the hopes of rising through the World Video Boxing Association's ranks. He pictured wall to wall cutting edge equipment, and in the center of it all, Doc, staring out proud, wearing his belt and coaching some shmuck who didn't know how lucky he was.

Anxiously, he rushed in with his mother right beside him. The door was plain and constructed out of dirty, tinted glass. He swung it open and stepped inside, and was greeted by a musty, off putting smell. The room was dim and empty. In the center was an old boxing ring, surrounded by old, antiquated work out equipment with no one around to use it. He recognized the room as the one from the commercial on television, though that realization was mixed with confusion. This was Doc's Gym, but there was no one here. Not a person in sight. He didn't understand.

He stood there in the dim light, searching the room. The only sound was the sound of the ceiling fan whirring lazily overhead. The smile on his face slowly faded and twisted into a disappointed frown. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, but that wasn't a good thing. It was, in a sense, miserable. Like a crude, perhaps cruel joke someone had made at the expense of boxing itself. His mother came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Marco..." She said, hesitantly. His shoulders sagged under an unseen weight. "Let's check the office, okay?" She continued, seeing his disappointment. Looking up, Marco noticed a room in the corner. The door leading in proudly displayed the word 'OFFICE' in large, black letters. It hung open just a crack.

His mother led the way and the two of them pushed open the door. There, at a desk, sat a man with his feet up comfortably, preoccupied by the morning paper. It was a minuscule room. Nothing inside, but the man, the desk at which he sat, a filing cabinet, and a dusty shelf with some old trophies on and belts on it. Marco furrowed his brow. The man, slowly and hesitantly, lowered the paper from his face and stared up at them.

He was a sweaty, large black man. His aged face was divided by a mustache. He wore a sweaty red track suit top that folded around his round belly, and a pair of blue sweatpants. In his hand, he clutched a half-eaten chocolate bar. He stared up at them, confused.

"Uh..." He murmured, staring blankly. "Hi. Can I help you?"

Marco glared at him, annoyed. He didn't know who this man was, but he knew that he was sitting in the wrong seat. Everything he had seen so far had almost convinced him that he was in the wrong place, and he might have believed it, but he had already read the sign. This was, in fact, the one and only Doc's Gym, but it wasn't the one he was expecting. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mother went ahead of him.

"Pardon me," she said, in the same gentle tone she always spoke with, "We're looking for Mr. Louis." Her voice was so soothing it was impossible not to be charmed by her. The fat man at the desk looked around and cleared his throat. Then he rose, with effort, to his feet, standing tall in cheap looking white sneakers. He took a bite of his chocolate, smudging brown on his lips.

"Yeah, okay." He said, scratching his belly. "That's me, nice to meet you." He wiped the chocolate and sweat from his hand onto his shirt, held it out to shake hers, which she did after some confused hesitation.

Marco stared at the man, a bit dizzy. This was not Doc Louis. Doc Louis was a boxer, and a champion at that. He was a fighter and a hero. This man was the opposite of that. He was aged and tired looking. He didn't look like he had ever been in a fight. This was not the man that Marco aspired to be.

"What..." Marco found himself saying, suddenly struck with the crushing reality of all the things he had seen, "what happened?"

"Marco!" His mother scolded, shooting him a terrible look. He turned to her, distressed. "I'm sorry about that, he's a sweet boy usually."

Doc laughed and smiled, shaking his head. His double chin jiggled when he laughed and made him look that much more out of shape. Marco stared at him angrily. If this was in fact Doc Louis, and Marco was not entirely convinced that it was, how could he have let this happen to him?

"Ah, it's fine." He said, dismissing her temperament, seeming not to mind. "I get that kind of thing a lot."

"You wouldn't believe how many people stop me on the street or in the grocery store, and ask me what happened to the Old Doc Louis!" He said, with a regretful laugh. His two guests watched blankly, waiting for a continuation to the story. He scratched his head and sighed. "It uh… Doesn't actually happen too often anymore."

There was an awkward silence. Marco's mother shifted uncomfortably, putting a hand on her son's shoulder. His disappointment was palpable, and she felt sorry for him. She desperately sought a way out of this horrid situation. Perhaps it was not too late to find a different gym for her son to train at. She had heard the Super Macho Center Sometimes offered low rates to first time members, and it sounded appealing.

"Marco, my son," she indicated, putting on a fake smile to appear as polite as possible, "wanted to learn how to box, but..."

"What?" Louis exploded, cutting her off. He was suddenly full of energy and a smile emerged on his face. "Really? You should have said so! Come on, let me show you around!" He said, joyously, doing some kind of jig with his fingers as he walked. It was a little embarrassing. He walked past them and out into the gym proper.

"Actually," The woman said, leading Marco, who was still attempting to grasp the reality of the situation, alongside herself, "I don't know if this gym is for us."

With that, Doc Louis stopped in his tracks and turned around. There was a moment of silence as the former champion eyed them, disappointed. His face sagged with a frown and he sighed.

"Why's that?" He asked, unimpressed. Marco's mother's eyes shot around the room.

"It's just that..." She began, searching for a way to express her feelings politely. Before she could, Marco stepped forward.

"Why do you think?" He said, bluntly, receiving an angry look from both of the adults in the room. Marco met Doc's glare with his own, and it almost seemed as if a fight would break out between them right then and there.

"I see how it is." Doc groaned, rubbing his temples. "You wanna jump in the ring with Mr. Sandman, rub elbows with celebrities, all that jazz. No time for washed up old boxers like Doc. I heard it all before." He said, starting the walk back to his office.

"Actually, sir," Marco's mother interrupted, suddenly feeling pity for the poor man. "Marco is your biggest fan."

"Mom!" Marco yelled. Doc Louis ceased his walk toward the office and turned back to face the two of them, eye brow raised.

"Oh, really?" He inquired. Marco blushed and averted his eyes and his mother smiled. Doc Louis let out a hearty guffaw and put a hand on his stomach.

"He watched all your matches on tape, and he has your video set too!" The woman continued, causing Marco further embarrassment. Doc smiled and nodded, recalling the set of instructional tapes he had recorded years ago for a quick buck. Of course, they weren't any replacement for a real, live instructor, but they were something at least.

"No wonder you're so confused." The pro said after some thought. "You came in here lookin' for Doc Louis, and all you got was... Well... Louis." He laughed again looking down at himself. Marco rolled his eyes. He was still upset that his idol had turned into a slob, but at least he was friendly.

"Okay, Marco, you wanna box?" Doc asked, finally addressing the boy in front of him. Marco nodded, but it was unenthusiastic. "Ain't no one out there gonna teach you to box like I can. I may be old but I haven't lost the touch."

"Seriously?" Marco quipped sarcastically. His disbelief made Doc groan and cross his arms. "I think you've gained more than you lost, honestly."

"Gonna be honest, that hurt more than any right hook I ever took." Doc responded, making Marco's mother chuckle. "You wanna test me, we could get in the ring right now, see if old Doc can still pull off the Star Uppercut."

Marco eyes the ring pensively, and for a moment he was tempted to say yes. But he sighed and shook his head. "No thanks, I think I've seen enough."

With that, the young man began heading for the door, followed by his mother, who bid Doc a farewell with a friendly wave and a sympathetic nod. Disappointed, but ultimately feeling a little more grown up, Marco left the building and returned to his mother's car. Taking a seat in the passenger side, he set his bag down and stared down at his feet, disappointed. He felt as though he had wasted years looking up to a man who had let himself fall from grace. The Doc Louis he knew, the one he had grown up admiring, was a completely different person than the man who had revealed himself today. It was little wonder Mac had not heard of him making any public appearances as of late.

After several moments, Mac realized that his Mother had not entered the car with him. He looked up and stared out through the wind shield to find her standing in the lot, talking to Doc Louis, the disappointment that he was. He had followed them out and was now speaking in private to his mother. Mac groaned and rolled his eyes. More than anything, he just wanted this man to disappear so he could move on and forget about him. Mac could find another champion to look up to. Climbing back out of the car, he addressed the two of them directly, drawing their attention.

"Hey, what's going on?" He asked, leaning over the vehicle impatiently and resting his head on his hand. The two of them turned to him, though neither seemed to be very happy.

"What's goin' on is I'm desperate. Not too proud to say I haven't trained someone in longer than I can remember." Doc explained. There was a moment of pitiable silence for him, but Mac found himself not feeling sympathetic for the pathetic old man. He surely would have found more work if he hadn't slipped in to the miserable state he presented himself as now.

"Marco," the boy's mother began, "he's offering one week of training for free." She said, looking somewhat convinced. Marco's eyes widened. The family's money trouble was no secret to Marco, who was no stranger to the woes of poverty. They lived in an apartment that hadn't received renovation for at least a decade or two. On one or two occasions, they had slipped so far below the line that they had to rely on food stamps to be fed. His mother worked, of course, but opportunity was scarce for a woman her age, and there wasn't a lot of room for upward movement. They received, and relied on, welfare checks for their day to day living.

A gym membership was expensive, and though they could cover the costs, a free week would help alleviate some of the financial stress. Marco cared for his mother, and the family's fiscal wellbeing was astronomically more important to him than his own wishes. If he could have both, though, he would.

"Just one week." The old man continued. "Gimme one week, and at the end, if you hate it, you can just walk away, I won't complain." He explained, wiping anxious sweat from his brow. Marco looked at him, then at his mother. She smiled at him. Her stance on it was clear from the way she looked at him, but ultimately it was his decision. If he said yes, it wouldn't be out of enthusiasm for training with Doc.

He stared at the ground for a moment, weighing his options. It was only for one week, and it might help him get a head start on whatever real training he found after. He could use the gym's equipment free of charge, too, which would be an invaluable asset for his workout routine. But most importantly, it wouldn't cost his family a dime. Any way he looked at it, it was difficult to pass up. He only needed to bear Doc's presence for long enough.

"Okay." He agreed quietly after some hesitation. Doc let out a victorious cheer and took a celebratory bite of his chocolate bar. Marco looked up to his mother and smiled, and she smiled back, understanding. There was a silent acknowledgement between the two of them. They both knew instantly why Mac had accepted. Not because it was a good opportunity, but because it was a safer option. It wasn't always easy for the two of them, but they made it through alright.

"Okay, okay, I gotta go warm up the equipment." Doc declared, giddy with excitement. "You two join me when you're ready." With that, Marco's former hero left the two of them standing in the cold streets of Manhattan. A breeze blew by and shifted the trash in the gutter up onto the curb. Marco's mother walked over and put a hand on his arm.

"Thank you, dear." She said, warmly, placing a hand on his arm. Marco nodded slowly and lethargically. "I know it's not ideal."

"It's okay, Mom." He assured her. It wasn't ideal, but it was something, and at least it was free.

"Are you going to be okay being alone with this guy for training?" She asked, concerned as any mother would be. "I can't always be here, and there's no one else in the gym."

"Mom," Marco sighed, rolling his eyes, "have you seen the guy? He tries something, he'll be my first KO."

The mother and son shared a hollow laugh, and finally headed back in to the gym. Doc was inside tinkering with some free weights when they entered. He shot up and greeted them when they arrived, jogging over and nearly tripping over a jump rope laying unused on the ground. His awkward movements were fuels by a precise, determined energy that was left over from his days of boxing.

"Alright, Marco." He greeted, finally reaching the two of them. "We're gonna start nice and easy with some warm ups."

"It's Mac." Marco responded, removing his bag and hoodie. Underneath, he wore a black tank top that showed off his muscular form. "Everyone just calls me Mac."

"The boy's at school call him Little Mac!" His mother exclaimed, laughing to herself. Mac stared at her, enraged. "What? I think it's cute! You're my Little Maccy!"

Mac blushed as his mother patted his shoulder. Doc just laughed, amused at the two of them and their relationship. Mac didn't mind when his mother pointed out these kinds of things, but he wished she could show a little restraint. He shook the blush from his face and tried to maintain a serious attitude.

"Little Mac, huh?" He asked, smiling a toothy grin. "Guess that's on account of you being four feet tall."

Mac narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow at the man, who, even in his age, stood at least a head taller than the boy. Mac got used to that sort of thing. Doc laughed again and Mac started to wonder if he was capable of taking anything seriously.

"Just Mac is fine. And I'm five seven, at least." The would-be boxer responded, huffing. Doc shook his head, chewing down the last of his chocolate.

"Nuh-uh." Doc refused. "In here, you're Little Mac too. And there ain't nothin' wrong with that." He explained, although Mac was too annoyed to listen. He clenched a fist and stared sharply at his things, wondering if it was too late to grab his stuff and go. A reassuring hand from his mother helped to ease him.

"Come on, why?" He asked. Doc Louis held up a hand, making Mac wait, and went to the office. A few moments later he reemerged with a poster rolled up and held with a rubber band. He unrolled it and pressed it against the wall, displaying it for Mac and his mother.

It was an old, faded thing, torn in the corners. It featured a picture of an older gentleman that Mac couldn't identify, and a younger man that Mac could easily recognize as a young Doc Louis. Underneath, in bold letters, it read:

"THE WVBA PRESENTS: DEBUT MATCH

RETURNING FAVORITE GABBY JAY VS NEW COMER 'STAR LOUIS'

DON'T MISS THIS BOXER'S MINOR CIRCUIT DEBUT."

Mac stared at it for several moments, not sure what he was looking for. He looked up at Doc, who smiled back.

"Star Louis?" He asked. That was all he had to say before Doc launched himself into what Mac would later call a life lesson.

"When I started out, I called myself 'Star Louis'." He explained, taking in the poster nostalgically. He nodded to himself with a smile and rolled the poster back in to it's former shape. "That was after my so-called signature move-"

"The Star Uppercut." Mac said, interrupting. Doc stared at him for a moment, taken aback, then he smiled and nodded. Mac shut his mouth, hoping he didn't come across as a know it all.

"Yup." Doc confirmed. "Used to say, 'You'll be Star Struck by Star Louis'" he continued, reminiscing. "At least, that's what I'd say. Usually before some big meat head knocked my face in!"

"So why'd you change to Doc? I thought Doc was just... Your name." Mac asked, suddenly anxious to know more. He was a bit surprised there was something about Doc's glory days that he didn't already know. He spent hours reading up on him as a child and even a teen, and now, even though Doc had clearly changed, there was something about the way he spoke about his career that lit that fire in Mac again.

"What kinda creep names their kid 'Doc'?" He asked, laughing. Mac shrugged and stared at the floor, waiting for the story to continue. "I'd rather be called 'Marco'. Heck, I think I like Marco more than I like Jerome. That's what my ma and pop called me."

"You see, turns out, when I first started boxing, I wasn't too good." Doc explained, sighing and shaking his head. It was a fact that Mac was a little shocked to hear. He hadn't ever imagined Doc losing more than he won. He was the champion after all. "I lost to almost every one I fought."

"Eventually I got a reputation. Then one day, I lost a fight against a real heavy hitter with out landing a single punch. Guy said he felt better than ever afterward." Doc continued, much to Mac's dismay. The whole story almost sounded like fiction, especially to him.

"Since then, people started calling me Doc." He groaned. "Because whoever I fought came out better than when they went in. It was humiliating."

"Yeah, I bet." Mac said, solemnly. He ran through the events in the story in his head, before suddenly realizing that he had lost track of the point of the whole thing. "What does this have to do with my name?"

"Well, I'm sure you know I got better. And I embraced the name. When I started winning, they called me Doc because people dreaded coming to see me. You know, no one wants to go to their check-up." Doc explained, patting his stomach with a smile. Mac nodded along, but still didn't quite understand.

"Mac, you're small. People are gonna call you 'Little' Mac, whether you want 'em to or not." He said, shaking his head. Mac let his eyes wander around the room, contemplating this fact. "So you better own it now before people laugh at you for it."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Mac asked, annoyed. He would rather have just been called Mac, but he couldn't deny the truth of Doc's statement. At school, he was tormented for his height. It's not like he seemed to be getting taller any time soon, so he might as well accept his title of 'little'. He just wasn't certain how to do so.

"I dunno, Little Mac." Doc said, rubbing his chin. His thoughtful look betrayed an unseen wisdom that Mac had not expected to see there. "You're small, but you pack a big punch, kid. You train with me and one day maybe you can show the world."

Mac nodded. That was a noble sentiment, but it was also somewhat inspiring. He couldn't deny he'd like to show the world what he could do. He wanted to be a champion boxer just like Doc, to show the world that some poor kid from the Bronx could make it big. All his life, he felt as though the odds were stacked against him. There was always a downside to whatever fortunate thing happened to his family next. For a time, Mac thought maybe he just had bad luck, and that it would turn around if he was patient enough. Then one day, when he was older, he watched his mother struggle with their land lord for an extension on their long past due rent. And he realized that luck didn't exist. No amount of waiting would get them out of the mire they were in. That was why Mac chose to fight.

He was a good student, but not an exceptional one. He could go to college, but it would be expensive, even with federal aid, and besides, boxing was the only thing he wanted to do. Rather than stay in school and pursue a more conventional career, he would follow his dream and become the champion. It was the only thing he could do. His peers and even school councilors told him that it was a foolish thing to do. That it was a one in a million shot, and if he didn't make it, he would have nothing to fall back on. He would be better off going through to university. But Mac knew it was a sure thing. There was no way around it. He would not stop punching until he got to the top. He would be he champion, for his mother, and himself.

"Fine!" He exclaimed, suddenly both very angry and very determined. Doc and his mother took a startled step back and leered as he opened his bag and pulled out a roll of sports tape, wrapping his hands. "What's first?"

"I like your hustle, kid! Gimme two hundred push-ups, then we'll see about gettin' real." Doc commanded, and without another word, Mac collapsed onto his hands, furiously exercising. He didn't question Doc at all, that wouldn't get him anywhere. He was pretty sure he could handle two hundred push-ups.

"Ma'am," Doc said, addressing Mac's mother while Mac threw push-ups out like some sort of machine, "If you'd like to have a seat on that bench against the wall, you feel free."

Mac looked up as his mother retreated to the bench. Then Doc stood over Mac like some sort of drill instructor, watchful eye looking unusually stern as he looked down on the boy. When Mac finished his push-ups he stood and was immediately directed to the speed bag.

It was a small, round punching bag hanging down from a post. Mac had never used one before, but he had seen it done in movies. It looked tricky. He gave it a hesitant smack, and it bounced back.

"Okay, Mac, that's real nice, but I want you to do it right." Doc scolded. Mac stared at him, then back to the bag. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he there was no better way to learn than to jump right in. He began to drum against the thing rapidly.

"Faster, Little Mac!" Doc instructed, to which Mac appropriately sped up. "You gonna step in the ring, you gotta be fast. Hit first, hit hard."

When that was done, Mac took on weights, which were heavier than he was used to. Then he put a punching bag through its paces, punching until he could no longer physically continue. Afterward, he was instructed to do some sit ups, but when he got down to oblige, Doc told him to get up.

"No, not there." Doc said, shaking his head. Then he pointed up to the corner of the room, where a cold, metal stairway led to the roof. "There."

"What?" Mac asked, bone tired from the intensity of their work out. He was drenched in sweat, and his muscles ached already. Still, it felt good. He felt as though it was his first real exercise in a while.

"Don't worry, Mac, I'll hold your legs, now get on up there!" Doc instructed. Mac looked at him as though he were insane, but Doc's serious gaze did not waver. Shrugging, he jogged up the stairs to the top, slipping his torso through the guard rail. With two hands, he hung on, suspending himself over nothing, with only his lower half resting on solid ground. When Doc joined him, he rested his weight on the boy's feet, and told him to drop. Taking a deep breath, he did so, and was now hanging upside down over concrete.

"Okay, Mac, let's start with an easy fifty." Doc instructed, urging him to begin. Mac scoffed. He could do fifty sit ups in his sleep. But when he began, he found they were harder than more natural sit ups. Each repetition felt like three, and he barely made it to forty before he was hauled back up.

"That was good, that was good, but I expect eighty next time." Doc lectured. Mac sighed, clenching his burning abdomen. He didn't feel as though he could ever do such a thing again, let alone do more next time. Still, he knew he would. He had to.

"Okay, Mac. I wanna see what you can do." His new coach said, descending the stairs. Mac followed and together, they approached the ring in the center of the room.

"You got boxing gloves in that bag?" He asked. Mac nodded and removed them from the bag lying on the barren concrete. They were green and new, he bought them specifically for today. "Okay, put 'em on."

Obeying, Mac slipped the gloves over his hands. Then Doc tossed him some sort of red, padded thing. He caught it, holding it in his gloved hands.

"You better put that on too." He said, giving his spine a stretch and climbing up into the ring. Looking down at it, Mac realized that it was head gear, padding to lessen any blow to the head during training. He didn't put it on.

"Seriously?" He asked, and he was met with a cold glare and a nod. "Are we actually about to box?"

"Do I look like I'm jokin', Mac?" He interrogated, throwing some innocent jabs at the air. Mac rolled his eyes, and Doc raised an eyebrow. "Don't judge a book by its cover, Mac."

Mac stood there, staring dumbly at the ring. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his coach, but it seemed like he had no choice. Doc was absolutely serious, he wanted a fight. Somehow, he had mustered up the gusto to act as though he still had it. Mac stood up, slipping the head gear on over his head. He didn't like the way it felt, but if he was supposed to wear it, he would.

"No head gear for you, Doc?" He asked, sarcastically. Doc laughed as Mac climbed through the ropes, into the ring.

"I ain't gonna need one, Mac." He scoffed, readying himself. Mac, slightly irritated, entered a stance as well, waiting for Doc to begin. They hit their gloves together, and with that, the fight was on.

"Okay, Mac, you remember my tapes?" Doc asked. "It's gonna be just like that." With that, he threw a simple punch that Mac skirted away from easily. Doc returned to his neutral stance, unimpressed.

"What, you chicken? Go ahead and hit me. I left myself wide open, Mac." Doc scolded. Mac, annoyed, threw a hook, which was easily blocked. "Not now, Mac, when I'm open!"

Mac nodded and waited for another opening. Within seconds, Doc through a hook, which the boy ducked. Seizing the moment, Mac jammed his fist up in to Doc's gut, knocking the wind out of the man. He stood there for a moment, regaining his composure, and Mac threw another punch. And another. And a flurry of jabs into the man's abdomen. It was exhilarating. It felt as though he had gained control of the situation. Doc staggered, stumbling back and freeing himself from Mac's torrent of blows.

"Okay!" Doc said, catching his breath and rubbing his stomach. He shook his head to reacquaint himself with the world. "Mac, what was that?"

"I just..." Mac began, lowering his arms. He thought to himself, looking down at his gloves. He didn't really know what exactly he had done, besides punch. There was nothing unusual about it, after all, it was boxing. "I just did what seemed natural." Doc stared at him, still recovering from the beating that his stomach took.

"You're fast, Mac. I could barely keep up!" He praised. Mac stared at him. He didn't feel like he had been particularly fast. He just threw a few punches as was expected. "I've been hit in the gut a lot, Mac. But never like that."

"If you say so, Doc." He said, anxious to get back to the fight. Doc readied himself and stepped forward. Mac put himself at the ready, carefully waiting for another opening.

"Alright, alright, you're excited." Doc noted, on guard. "But ol' Doc's got some tricks up his sleeves."

Mac watched carefully, and several moments passed with out action. When it seemed Doc would not make a move, Mac threw an uppercut. His coach, with a practiced, professional skill, dodged just out of the way and threw a jab, hitting Mac straight in the jaw. Mac stumbled back, surprised. He was caught off guard, and now he was a little dazed. He turned back to Doc just in time to see him winding up.

"Bet you seen this one before, huh?" He said as he threw a massive uppercut. Mac could only watch as the man's fist connected with his jaw. There was a bright flash of light as Mac felt his feet leave the ground. It was apparent that Mac was flying through the air, as he felt the wind rush through his hair. A moment later he felt his back slam against the canvas of the ring. He blinked several times, stunned. He heard his mother gasp.

"That, Mac," Doc said, walking over and offering the boy a hand up to his feet, "was the Star Uppercut."

Mac stared up at him, still in disbelief. He took his arm and rose to his feet, unsteady. Even through the headgear, he could feel the sting from the punch. The hit that Doc was famous for, it had ended fights before they ever began. And Mac had just been hit square in the jaw with it. It was a dream come true.

"Hoo, that felt good!" Doc exclaimed, dancing like a fool. "I haven't pulled one of them off in years! Doc wins by TKO!" He laughed, matching around the ring with his hands in the air. Mac rubbed his chin where the punch had connected, and couldn't help but smile as his coach celebrated his victory. "And Doc gets his fourth championship belt in a stunning comeback!"

"You have to teach me that!" Mac exclaimed, excited for the first time since he arrived at the gym. That punch had proven without a doubt that Doc was still a pro. Perhaps he had fallen out of shape, and fallen from grace, but he was still the champion that Mac looked up to. Now, training under him was looking significantly more appealing.

Doc stopped his parade and turned to Mac, still smiling. He laughed and walked over, giving him a playful punch in the arm. Then he lowered himself slowly out of the ring, removing his gloves. Mac followed him, hopping over the ropes and down on to the ground.

"You wanna learn the Star Uppercut, huh?" Doc asked, musing to himself. "I don't know. You're fast, but I don't know if you got what it takes."

Mac furrowed his brow and beat his gloves together, determined. He wasn't about to give up. He ran over in front of Doc, who stopped in his tracks.

"What do I have to do?" Mac interrogated the man, who stopped in his tracks. Now close, Mac could see the sweat rolling down his forehead. He guessed that even a spar was an unusual amount of exertion for the man, who had clearly forgotten about his health. "I'll train every day, whatever you say."

Doc laughed and shrugged him off. He walked over to a shelf on the wall and retrieved a chocolate bar from it, munching away happily. Mac just stood there, waiting for a response. Finally, after a particularly contemplative bite of candy, he looked to Mac and opened his mouth to speak.

"Mac, baby, you can train all you want," he began, bits of chocolate flying out of his mouth when he spoke, "but the only muscle you need to pull off a Star Uppercut is heart!"

"Huh?" Mac blurted, dumbly. It sounded like a cheesy line out of a bad movie. The last thing Mac wanted was a corny speech about the power of feelings or any such nonsense. He just wanted to punch things.

"Course, a good arm helps too." Doc continued, chuckling to himself. When Mac met him with a blank stare, he shook his head and got serious. Chocolate bar in hand, he beckoned Mac to follow as they both walked across the room.

"Mac, I can teach you the star uppercut," he explained, patting the kid boxer on the shoulder absentmindedly, "but I'm gonna need more than a week to do it."

Mac looked him in the eyes and saw that he was dead serious. He sighed and turned back to his mother, who was reading a magazine on the bench across the gym. Doc had shown that he knew what he was doing, and Mac certainly didn't mind staying on with him. It would be ideal, actually. Now that he had seen the old pro at work, the respect he once had come rushing back in a flood. But none of that mattered.

The wallet governed Mac's life. There was no way around it, he was broke and so was his mom. As much as he wanted to train with Doc, it was all up to how low the man was willing to set his rates. After all, Mac wasn't the one who would be paying them, he had no job and no income. He had to do what was right by his mother.

"How much?" The boxer asked, after some hesitation, while Doc mixed himself a protein shake, chocolate flavor, of course. His elder looked up at Mac with a blank stare, not sure how to answer.

"Uh... how much longer than one week?" He asked, clueless. Mac rolled his eyes. "I dunno, I guess it depends on you, kid!"

"No, Doc," Mac retorted, somewhat flustered by the man's almost amusing innocence, "how much do you charge?"

"Oh!" Doc exclaimed. Then he shoveled the last scoop of powder into his blender and rested his hands on the table. His eyes remained down at the flat backs of his hands for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time, before he sighed and nodded, a very slight smile curling he edge of his lips.

"Mac, baby, I'll be honest, I think you got what it takes." He declared, confidently. Mac leered. He didn't hear a price, so he kept listening. "I think you could take those flyin' fists all the way to the top!"

Mac stood there for a moment, unbelieving. The real Doc Louis, his childhood hero, had seen potential in him. Still, he didn't hear any rates, and that made him nervous. Was Doc simply trying to butter him up? He hoped not. He gazed at the man, who had placed his hands on his hips and now smiled brightly at the boy. Mac returned the smile, pleased, but anxious all the same.

"That's why I'm gonna help you out, boy." Doc yelled, pointing an intrusive finger at Mac, whose eyebrow raised. He thought he knew were this was going, he just wasn't sure he could believe it. "Here's what I'll do."

"I'm gonna train you, and when you're ready, I'll set up a fight for you in the WVBA minor circuit." He explained, leaning haphazardly on the blender next to him. Mac was worried it would break under the pressure. "You win that first fight, and you won't owe me a dime."

Mac stood there, in awe, mouth agape. Doc laughed and went back to his shake, as casual as could be, but Mac was still in shock. It was almost a dream come true, not just for him, but for his mother as well. He couldn't wait til she heard the news. It was a welcome relief for him and no doubt, it would be for her as well. One less thing for welfare to pay for.

"Doc, I don't know what to say, I..." He began, searching for words that would express his gratitude. He found none. Such a kindness was not only unbelievable, it was unfamiliar to Mac, who had never received much help in life. He dreaded joining a gym, paying hundreds of dollars for a weeks worth of lessons and work outs, as one would at the Super Macho Center in uptown. Now, that fear was lifted. Doc was truly a good man.

"Mom!" He yelled. The Hispanic woman looked up from her reading and smiled, watching him run over, followed by Doc. He had a big, cheery smile on his face that quickly spread to his mother. "Docs gonna train me for free!"

"What?" The woman gasped. Doc nodded as he approached, falling slightly behind the spry youth he was now training. The woman stood there, looking at the two men with uncertain eyes. She wasn't sure whether she was being played or if something good had actually happened to her.

"Just as long as he wins his first real fight, that is." Doc finished for Mac. His mother, as unbelieving as her son, stared agape at the man, who had offered them so much.

"Are you sure, Mr. Louis?" She asked, making sure this was not some sort of cruel joke. Mac put his arm around her and smiled, but she could only be serious.

"Please, Mr. Louis was my pop, call me Doc!" The man insisted. "And yeah, I'm dead serious. Mac here is a natural born fighter. It would be my pleasure to train your son."

Mac and his mother looked at each other, one smiling, the other shocked, but both in generally high spirits now. A mixture of relief and joy spread across both faces as the two, for once in what seems like a life time of tough breaks, were granted some fortune.

"But what if he loses?" Mac's mother asked, suddenly realizing the catch to their fortunate situation. The worry returned to her face as she awaited a reply that never came. Instead, Mac himself answered her question, gritting his teeth with fierce determination.

"I won't, Mom." He announced, earning an approving nod from Doc. His mother looked down at him and smiled her familiar, kind, supportive smile. He knew he would do whatever it took to beat that first opponent. He hoped she knew it to. The chance was too good, too charitable, to let it slip by. He couldn't afford to fumble it and let his future slip away.

"Guess that settles it, huh?" Doc said, laughing and gnawing at his snack jovially. "You train with me kid, I'll be surprised if you ever lose!"

"Hear that, Mom?" Mac yelled, taking a few jabs at the air. "When I'm the champ, I'm buying us a new car."

"You don't like the Hatchback?" Mac's mother asked, feigning concern. Mac awkwardly averted his eyes and shrugged, and the two of them shared a laugh.

"Alright, kid, settle down, get your head outta the clouds." Doc scolded, snapping Mac back in to reality. He had suddenly become very serious. "That's a long road, and you only taken the first step. Can't get cocky already."

"Right." Mac replied, straightening up. He pushed the image of himself dawning the world champion's belt out of his head. Boxing took focus and so did training, and though Mac was excited, he couldn't let it distract him.

"Come on, Mac baby, time for a protein shake! You earned it." Doc said, beginning the trip back across the gym to the blender. Mac followed diligently, waving to his mother, who returned to her perch on the bench.

When they arrived, Mac was presented with a shelf, and too plastic containers of protein powder: Chocolate and Vanilla.

"Go ahead, take your pick." Doc said, unusually, and perhaps unnecessarily, serious. Mac reached toward the pale, vanilla flavored powder but was quickly stopped by his coach, who grabbed his arm and looked him straight in the eye.

"Mac, you serious about bein' a boxer?" He asked, in a deep, real, professional tone unlike what Mac had heard the man speak with before. He nodded slowly and hesitantly, unsure what the meaning behind the sudden interrogation was. Seeing Mac's answer, Doc gave a slow push and eased the boxer's muscled arm toward the darker flavor.

"Always chocolate, Mac." He said, maintaining a deadly leer. Mac swallowed as the man's eyes pierced his soul and drilled into his very core. There was a moment of anxiety, where Mac was unsure how to continue, before Doc burst into a heavy fit of laughter, tearing up in he corners of his eyes.

"Just kiddin', Mac!" He guffawed, letting go of the boy's arm. Mac did not laugh, he was a bit too surprised. "There's nothin' even in the vanilla one, kid, I don't even know why I haven't thrown it out!"

He gave another chuckle and tossed the container into a bin next to the shelf.

"But seriously, Kid, vanilla tastes like grass." He said, seriously. Mac was confused.

After they had both enjoyed a chilled beverage (the second for Doc), the two shook hands, sealing their agreement. Mac agreed to train with Doc, and Doc agreed to do it for free. Mac packed his things and got ready to leave, joining his mother at the entrance.

"See you here tomorrow, Doc. Ten o'clock!" The boy declared as his mother wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Oh!" Doc gasped, snapping his fingers, "You gotta bike, Mac?"

"Yeah, sure I do, why?" The kid asked, scratching his head. Doc laughed and gave him the thumbs up.

"Bring it with you next time, we're gonna need it."


End file.
